In early afternoon another barn cat escorted Emily up a gravel drive to a farmhouse. No one answered her knock. "Hello!" she called.

A large dog came racing around the house, hackles up. It hushed its barking when the cat bristled and hissed.

A woman soon followed, slapping a pair of work gloves against her thigh. "You look as frittered as my cow and calf, dear. Come in, come in. Did that quake do you an upset too? Come sit down!"

Emily ran fingers through her straggly hair as she followed indoors. "Yes. Car in the ditch, a few miles up the road. I need to get back to Skowalko. May I use your telephone?"

"Sure, but good luck getting through."

Emily sank onto a chair near the sideboard and picked up the handset. It beeped unavailable.

The woman gave her a glass of water. "I spent most of the morning chasing down my livestock. Still missing three sheep. Most of the chickens returned but they're in such a tizzy I doubt I'll get any eggs today."

On her third try, Emily got a dial tone. She cranked out the number for the Skowalko police department. 

Busy.

The woman sighed, gazing at a pile of shattered glass in the hall. "My gramma's portrait fell and broke. A vase in the parlor, too. My potting shed collapsed. Goodness knows what's happened to Old Man Griffiths' barn! It's been leaning for years, waiting for a strong wind to knock it over."

Two school-age children ran in the door. "She's fine," the girl piped up.

"A tree branch knocked her phone line down," the boy said. "That's all."

"We look out for our neighbors out here." The woman smiled at her guest. "And passersby, too."

Emily made another trial of the police station. No luck. She tried Margaret's number.

"Where are you?" Margaret demanded.

"Stranded up the Enumclaw road. How far?" Emily asked her host. "About eight miles."

"Stay put. I'll come get you."

"I'll be out by the road, and flag you down." Emily cradled the receiver. "Thank you so much!" she told the farm woman. "I couldn't have walked much further."

"Johnny, take this chair down to the side of the road. Kate, fetch my Sunday sweater for our wanderer here. No, I insist! You'll chill if you sit out there after hiking all morning. You can leave it on the chair when your friend comes."

Emily followed the children down the lane, glad her vigor had returned, but figuring she ought not put it to any more trial. Enough walking for one day.

Glad, too, to have the cat-sight back again. She saw many traceries, many ribbons, many gossamer strands of aura marking the mad dash of spooked creatures, both domesticated and wild. The children left unworried streamers as they scampered toward the roadside, jabbering about their morning's adventure.

Emily settled onto the chair, snugging the sweater around her shoulders, waving the children back up the lane.

She sniffed. A haze of smoke rode the breeze. Not the delightful tang of a campfire. Something bitter and dense. Someone must be burning trash. A lot of trash.

.

prompt: trial